2364- 


1888 


ITTLE  BROTHR 
OF  THE  RICH 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


A   LITTLE 
BROTHER   OF  THE   RICH 


A    LITTLE 
BROTHER  OF  THE  RICH 


AND   OTHER   POEMS 


BY  E.   S.   MARTIN 


NEW    YORK 
MITCHELL    &     MILLER 

23    WEST    231)    STRKKT 


FLEMING-  BREWJ-TER-  &   ALLEY 
£^&PP    R,  I  IS  T  E  R  ,5*    «"^&^>-0 
31-33     West    23r-d  /treet, 
YO  RKj 


PS 

3 

3 
ISS8 


flnscribefc 

TO 

THE    EDITOR   OF    "THE   SUN  " 

WITH    THE 

SOMEWHAT    DISQUIETING    CONSCIOUSNESS 

THAT   HE    KNOWS   POETRY 

WHEN    HE   SEES   IT 


ROCHESTER,  DEC.,  1887 


612781 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  LITTLE  BROTHER  OF  THE  RICH u 

A  MORTIFYING  SUBJECT 36 

A  PHILADELPHIA  CLAVERHOUSE 35 

A  PRACTICAL  QUESTION 15 

AGAIN 44 

ALL  OR  NOTHING 39 

AND  WAS  HE  RIGHT? 24 

ASHORE 17 

AUTUMN 25 

BALLADE  OF  THE  GENERAL  TERM 13 

BARTER 19 

BEGGARS'  HORSES 20 

CIVIL  SERVICE 33 

CRUMBS  AND  COMFORT 16 

EPITHALAMIUM 41 

ET  Tu  BERGHE  ! 29 

FOLGER 53 

GRANT 54 

HONI  SOIT  Oui  MAL  v  PENSE 31 

IN  THE  ELVSIAN  FIELDS 28 

INFIRM 15 

INSOMNIA 14 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

LOCHINVAR  EX-COLORADO 50 

MEA  CULPA 45 

MIXED 38 

OF  MISTRESS  MARTHA:  HER  EYES 22 

PROCUL  NEGOTIIS 40 

REMORSE 30 

THE  BEST  GIFT  OF  ALL 23 

TO-DAY 21 

To  MABEL 48 

TOUCHING  BOTTOM 26 

WHAT  HE  WANTS  IN  His 38 


A    LITTLE    BROTHER    OF   THE   RICH. 

TO  put  new  shingles  on  old  roofs ; 
To  give  old  women  wadded  skirts ; 
To  treat  premonitory  coughs 

With  seasonable  flannel  shirts  ; 
To  soothe  the  stings  of  poverty 

And  keep  the  jackal  from  the  door — 
These  are  the  works  that  occupy 
The  Little  Sister  of  the  Poor. 

She  carries,  everywhere  she  goes, 

Kind  words  and  chickens,  jams  and  coals ; 
Poultices  for  corporeal  woes, 

And  sympathy  for  downcast  souls  ; 
Her  current  jelly — her  quinine, 

The  lips  of  fever  move  to  bless. 
She  makes  the  humble  sick-room  shine 

With  unaccustomed  tidiness. 

A  heart  of  hers  the  instant  twin 

And  vivid  counterpart  is  mine  ; 
I  also  serve  my  fellow-men, 

Though  in  a  somewhat  different  line. 
The  Poor,  and  their  concerns,  she  has 

Monopolized,  because  of  which 
It  falls  to  me  to  labor  as 

A  Little  Brother  of  the  Rich. 


For  their  sake  at  no  sacrifice 

Does  my  devoted  spirit  quail ; 
I  give  their  horses  exercise  ; 

As  ballast  on  their  yachts  I  sail. 
Upon  their  Tally  Ho's  I  ride 

And  brave  the  chances  of  a  storm  ; 
I  even  use  my  own  inside 

To  keep  their  wines  and  victuals  warm. 

Those  whom  we  strive  to  benefit 

Dear  to  our  hearts  soon  grow  to  be ; 
I  love  my  Rich,  and  I  admit 

That  they  are  very  good  to  me. 
Succor  the  Poor,  my  sisters,  I, 

While  heaven  shall  still  vouchsafe  me  health, 
Will  strive  to  share  and  mollify 

The  trials  of  abounding  wealth. 


12 


BALLADE  OF  THE  GENERAL  TERM. 


EACH  in  his  high  official  chair ; 
One  who  presides  ;  two  plain  J.  J. 
Decent  of  mien  and  white  of  hair 
They  sit  there  judging  all  the  day. 
The  gravity  of  what  they  say 
Bent  brows  and  sober  tones  confirm  ; 
Brown,  Jones  and  Robinson  are  they, 
Justices  of  the  General  Term. 

I  see  the  learned  counsel  there 
Rise  up  and  argue,  move  and  pray  ; 
Attorneys  with  respectful  air 
Their  legal  acumen  display. 
Serenely  joyous  if  they  may 
Of  justice  keep  alive  the  germ  ; 
Motion  and  argument  they  weigh 
Those  justices  of  General  Term. 


That  court  I  haunt,  not  that  I  care 

For  Justice  in  a  general  way  ; 

Nor  yet  because  I  hope  to  share 

With  anyone  a  client's  pay. 

The  reason  why  I  there  delay 

And  on  the  court's  hard  benches  squirm 

Is  that  of  Love  I  am  the  prey — 

Her  father  is  the  General  Term. 

ENVOY. 

I  look  at  him  with  dire  dismay — 
Scorched  by  his  eye  I  seem  a  worm. 
"  Dismissed  with  costs,"  is  what  he'll  say- 
That  Justice  of  the  General  Term. 


INSOMNIA. 

~^  OME,  vagrant  sleep,  and  close  the  lid 
-^     Upon  the  casket  of  my  thought : 
Come,  truant,  come  when  thou  art  bid, 
And  let  thyself  be  caught. 

For  lonely  is  the  night,  and  still ; 

And  save  my  own  no  breath  I  hear, 
No  other  mind,  no  other  will, 

Nor  heart  nor  hand  is  near. 

Thy  waywardness  what  prayer  can  move  ! 

Canst  thou  by  any  lure  be  brought  ? 
Or  art  thou  then  like  woman's  love 

That  only  comes  unsought  ? 


INFIRM. 

£  T   WILL  not  go,"  he  said,  "  for  well 
1     I  know  her  eyes'  insidious  spell, 
And  how  unspeakably  he  feels 
Who  takes  no  pleasure  in  his  meals. 
I  know  a  one-idead  man 
Should  undergo  the  social  ban, 
And  if  she  once  my  purpose  melts 
I  know  I'll  think  of  nothing  else. 

I  care  not  though  her  teeth  are  pearls — 
The  town  is  full  of  nicer  girls  ! 
I  care  not  though  her  lips  are  red — 
It  does  not  do  to  lose  one's  head  ! 
I'll  give  her  leisure  to  discover, 
For  once,  how  little  I  think  of  her ; 
And  then,  how  will  she  feel?"  cried  he- 
And  took  his  hat  and  went  to  see. 


A  PRACTICAL  QUESTION. 

DARKLY  the  humorist 
Muses  on  fate; 
Ghastly  experiment 

Life  seems  to  him, 
Subject  for  merriment 

Sombre  and  grim ; 

Is  it  his  doom  or  is't 

Something  he  ate  ? 


CRUMBS   AND   COMFORT. 

LET  no  man,  irked  by  tedious  fate, 
The  worth  of  victuals  underrate  ; 
But  thankful  be  if  so  he  may 
Environ  three  square  meals  a  day  ; 

For,  barring  drink,  there's  naught  so  good, 
Up  to  its  limit's  edge,  as  food. 

Up  to  its  limit  ?     Yes,  but  will 

Food  satisfy  as  well  as  fill  ? 

Hear  humankind  responsive  groan — 

"  Man  cannot  live  by  bread  alone  !  " 
Oh,  tell  me,  Sibyl,  tell  me  whether 
A  man  might  live  on  bread — together ! 


16 


ASHORE. 


Man's  happiness  depends  upon  the  views 
He  takes  of  circumstances  that  he's  in. 

To  some  it  is  a  greater  joy  to  lose 
Than  it,  to  others,  ever  is  to  win. 


SINCE  our  poor  hopes,  like  vessels  tempest  tossed, 
Are  duly  wrecked,  and  all  illusion  ceases ; 
Now  that  the  game  is  up,  let's  count  the  cost, 
And  estimate  the  value  of  the  pieces. 

And  first,  our  heart :     It  was  a  flimsy  thing 
Already  when  we  dared  this  last  adventure  ; 

And  if  it's  flimsy  still — Why,  that  should  bring 
No  added  liability  to  censure. 

A  serviceable  organ  is  it  still, 

That  does  our  turn  in  absence  of  a  better ; 
And  very  shortly,  we  believe,  it  will 

As  calmly  thump  as  though  we'd  never  met  her. 

If  tissues  are  so  delicately  spun 

As  not  to  stand  a  reasonable  racket, 
Their  anxious  owner  has  as  little  fun 

As  Master  Thomas  in  his  Sunday  jacket. 

Give  tender  hearts  to  those  who  like  that  kind, 
And  gain  in  strength  with  every  pang  they  suffer ; 

We  praise  that  sort,  but  with  relief  we  find 

That  ours  is  tough  and  yearly  growing  tougher. 


Our  head  remains  the  same  indifferent  pate, 
Guiltless  alike  of  learning  and  of  laurels. 

We  notice,  though,  with  thankfulness,  of  late 
A  measure  of  improvement  in  our  morals. 

Our  purse  was  always  lean,  so  it  amounts 
To  little  that  it  yet  remains  depleted  ; 

Though  florists'  and  confectioners'  accounts 
Are  in,  and  payment  of  the  same  entreated. 

We've  lost  a  heap  of  time,  but  being  rid 
Of  time,  one  always  gets  along  without  it. 

Could  we  have  spent  it  better  than  we  did  ? 
Another  might ;  but,  for  ourself,  we  doubt  it. 

And  we  have  learned — nothing.     We  knew  before 
The  folly  and  the  vanity  of  wooing ; 

And  if  we  chose  to  try  it  still  once  more, 
'Twas  not  to  win,  but  simply  to  be  doing. 

It  was  not  that  we  hoped  to  gain  a  heart ; 

That  that  were  vain  required  no  further  proving. 
It  only  meant  that  souls  that  live  apart 

Yield  sometimes  to  the  human  need  of  loving. 

Is  this  the  last  ?     While  yet  his  garments  drip 
The  stranded  mariner  forgets  his  pain, 

And  rescuing  the  remnants  of  his  ship, 
Already  plans  to  make  them  float  again. 


18 


BARTER. 


YES,  there's  a  hole ;  you  needn't  be 
At  pains  to  point  it  out  to  me  : 

I  know  it. 

I  do  not  claim  the  piece  is  whole, 
Or  that  its  yard  of  width  is  full : 
I  merely  show  it. 

Fast  color  ?     Do  I  really  think 
That  being  soaked  it  will  not  shrink 

When  dried  ? 

Now  that  I've  got  it  off  the  shelf, 
You'd  better  test  the  dyes  yourself, 

And  so  decide. 

Cotton  ?     I  dare  surmise  it's  full 

Of  threads  that  one  might  wish  were  wool, 

If  wishing  did  it. 

Look  sharp  ;  but  if  through  being  blind 
Some  flaw  or  fault  you  fail  to  find, 

Don't  say  I  hid  it. 

The  price  is  high.      You  think  it  so  ? 
Well,  this  is  not,  I'd  have  you  know, 

A  bankrupt  sale. 

These  wares  of  mine  if  you  despise, 
Some  other  dealer's  merchandise 
May  find  more  favor  in  your  eyes ; 
To  hold  mine  over  for  a  rise 

I  shall  not  fail. 


19 


BEGGARS'  HORSES. 

1WISH  that  altitude  of  tone, 
The  waistband's  due  expansion, 
The  faculty  to  hold  one's  own 
In  this  and  t'other  mansion  ; 
And  shirts  and  shoes  and  moral  force, 

Topcoats  and  overgaiters, 
Were  things  that  always  came  of  course 
To  philosophic  waiters. 

I  wish  that  not  by  twos  and  threes, 

In  squads  and  plural  numbers, 
Young  women  would  destroy  one's  ease 

Of  mind  and  rout  one's  slumbers  ; 
But  that  if  by  a  poor  heart's  squirms 

Their  pleasures  know  accession, 
They'd  hold  it  for  successive  terms 

In  several  possession. 

I  wish  I  had  been  changed  at  birth, 

And  in  my  place  maturing 
Some  infant  of  surpassing  worth, 

Industrious  past  curing, 
Had  grown  up  subject  to  my  share 

In  Father  Adam's  blunder, 
And  left  me  free  to  pile  up  care 

For  him  to  stagger  under. 


I  wish  that  some  things  could  be  had 

Without  foregoing  others ; 
That  all  the  joys  that  are  not  bad 

Were  not  weighed  down  with  bothers. 
We  can  but  wonder  as  we  test 

The  scheme  of  compensations, 
Is  happiness  with  drawbacks  best, 

Or  grief  with  consolations. 


TO-DAY. 

SEE  that  what  burdens  Heaven  may  lay 
Upon  your  shrinking  neck  to  day, 

To-day  you  bear ; 

Nor  seek  to  shun  their  weary  weight, 
Nor,  bowed  with  dread,  anticipate 
To-morrow's  care. 

Not  with  too  great  a  load  shall  Fate, 
That  knows  the  end,  your  shoulders  freight 

Or  heart  oppress ; 
If  but  to-day's  appointed  work 
You  grapple  with,  nor  wish  to  shirk 

Its  due  distress. 

The  coward  heart  that  turns  away 
From  present  tasks,  with  justice  may 

Forebodings  fill. 

Fools  try  to  quaff  to-morrow's  wine  ; 
As  though  to-morrow's  sun  could  shine 

Unrisen  still. 


OF    MISTRESS    MARTHA:    HER    EYES. 

TRANSFIXED  and  spitted  in  my  heart 
By  Mistress  Martha's  eyes,  their  dart, 
Which  has  within  me  raised  a  great 
Commotion  and  uneasy  state. 

Or  are  they  black  or  are  they  blue 
I  know  not  any  more  than  you, 
Nor  could  I  for  a  wager  say 
If  they  be  hazel,  brown  or  gray. 

But  when  it  comes  to  diagnosis 
Of  what  the  outcome  of  their  use  is, 
Full,  comprehensive  and  exact 
Is  my  conception  of  the  fact. 

When  first  their  witchery  has  begun 
You  might  be  saved  if  you  would  run ; 
But  who  would  look  for  cause  for  fear 
In  depths  so  limpid,  calm  and  clear. 
Too  soon,  poor  fool,  you  find  you've  stayed 
Till  it's  too  late  to  be  afraid. 

Alas  for  him  who  thus  misreckons 
For  friendly  lights  mistaking  beacons. 
Better  it  were  if  he  had  found 
Clarence,  his  fate,  in  Malmsey  drowned, 
Than  Mistress,  in  thine  eyes  to  sink, 
Nor  make  a  tear  o'erflow  its  brink. 


THE    BEST    GIFT    OF    ALL. 

ONE-AND-TWENTY,  one-and-twenty, 
Youth  and  beauty,  lovers  plenty ; 
Health  and  riches,  ease  and  leisure, 
Work  to  give  a  zest  to  pleasure  ; 
What  can  a  maid  so  lucky  lack? 
What  can  I  wish  that  Fate  holds  back  ? 

Youth  will  fade  and  beauty  wanes  ; 
Lovers,  flouted,  break  their  chains. 
Health  may  fail  and  wealth  may  fly  you, 
Pleasures  cease  to  satisfy  you  ; 
Almost  everything  that  brings 
Happiness  is  born  with  wings. 

This  I  wish  you — this  is  best : 
Love  that  can  endure  the  test ; 
Love  surviving  youth  and  beauty, 
Love  that  blends  with  homely  duty, 
Love  that's  gentle,  love  that's  true, 
Love  that's  constant  wish  I  you. 

Still  unsatisfied  she  lives 

Who  for  gold  mere  silver  gives. 

One  more  joy  I  wish  you  yet, 

To  give  as  much  love  as  you  get. 

Grant  you,  heaven,  this  to  do, 

To  love  him  best  who  best  loves  you. 


23 


AND    WAS    HE    RIGHT? 

I'M  going  to  marry — not  you,"  she  said, 
1     "  But  a  better  fellow  in  your  stead. 
You're  not  so  bad — not  bad  at  all ; 
I'd  like  to  keep  you  within  my  call, 
But  not  to  take  you  for  good  and  all. 
I'm  going  to  live  on  yonder  street ; 
Do  you  live  near  me,"  she  said ;  "  so  sweet 
As  I'll  be  to  you  whenever  we  meet ! 
And  in  my  house  there'll  be  a  seat 
Where  you  can  sit  and  warm  your  feet, 
And  your  contentment  shall  be  complete — 
Come  !     Isn't  it  a  divine  conceit?  " 

She  said. 

Softly  his  breast  a  sigh  set  free  : 
He  said,  "  Dear  Heart,  it  may  not  be — 
Not  for  the  perfume  of  the  rose 
Would  I  live  near  to  where  it  grows. 
If  not  for  me  the  bud  has  blown, 
I'd  rather  leave  the  flower  alone  ; 
Who  by  the  bush  sits  down  forlorn 
Is  only  fit  to  feel  the  thorn." 

He  said. 


AUTUMN. 

1HAVE  sundry  queer  sensations 
When  the  year  gets  round  to  Autumn. 
What  they  are,  and  how  I  caught  'em 

Is  obscure,  but  they  are  there — 
Certain  gay  exhilarations 

Half-and-half,  as  Bass  with  Guinness, 
With  a  sad  what-might-have-been-ness 
In  the  brisk  September  air. 

Back  come  hopes  and  young  ambitions 
With  the  golden-rod  and  sumach, 
But  impregnated  with  true  Mach 
iavellian  despair. 

Taking  note  of  changed  conditions  ; 
Weighing  powers  with  limitations  ! 
Facts  with  futile  aspirations 
Born  of  bracing  autumn  air. 

Now  I  see  myself  grown  famous, 
Bold  of  voice  and  free  of  gesture, 
Grave,  superb,  of  stunning  vesture 
Flood  with  eloquence  the  court. 
Soon  ascends  my  Gaudeamus 
As  I  realize  there  aren't 
Any  facts  that  seem  to  warrant 
Premonitions  of  that  sort. 


25 


Welcome  each  hallucination : 
Welcome,  none  the  less,  discerning 
Common  sense  in  time  returning 

To  obliterate  the  spell. 
As  a  means  of  elevation — 
As  a  sort  of  moral  derrick 
This  autumnal,  atmospheric 
Spirit-hoister  bears  the  bell. 


TOUCHING    BOTTOM. 

1   THINK  that  I  have  somewhere  read 
About  a  man  whose  foolish  head, 
By  mischievous  intention  led, 

A  sprite 

Had  with  an  ass's  visage  decked, 
That  all  who  met  him  might  detect 
His  intellectual  defect 

At  sight 

The  trite  remark  of  man  and  book 
That  many  men  are  men  in  look, 
But  donkeys  really,  thus  the  spook 

Reversed ; 

The  victim  of  the  imp's  design 
Had  such  a  head  as  yours  or  mine, 
Although  in  aspect  asinine 

At  first. 


26 


But  Love — I  think  the  story  ran — 
Was  proof  against  the  fairy's  plan, 
Discerning  through  the  mask  the  man, 

Perhaps ; 

Or,  is  it  true  that  women  try, 
But  very  faintly,  to  descry 
Long  ears  on  heads  that  occupy 

Their  laps ! 

I  know  a  youth  whose  fancy  gropes 
For  headgear  finer  than  the  Pope's, 
So  him  his  bright  and  treacherous  hopes 

Delude ; 

But,  in  the  mirror  of  his  fears, 
When  this  too  sanguine  person  peers, 
Alas  !  behold  the  jackass  ears 

Protrude ! 

Titania,  mine,  if  I  could  find 

You  always  to  my  follies  blind, 

So  great  content  would  rule  my  mind 

Within, 

That  even  though  myself  aware 
Of  pointed  ears  adorned  with  hair, 
I  do  not  think  that  I  would  care 

A  pin. 


w 


IN    THE    ELYSIAN    FIELDS. 

HAT  ?     You  here !     Why,  old  man,  I  never 

Felt  more  surprise  or  more  delight ; 
Who  would  have  dreamt  that  you  would  ever 

Parade  around  in  robes  of  white  ? 
I  always  thought  of  you  as  dodging 

The  coals  and  firebrands  somewhere  else ; 
And  here  you  are,  with  board  and  lodging, 
Where  not  so  much  as  butter  melts. 

Well,  well,  old  man,  if  you  can  stand  it 

Up  here,  I'll  never  make  a  fuss ; 
I  had  forebodings  that  they'd  planned  it 

A  little  stiff  for  men  like  us. 
The  boys  were  much  cut  up  about  you, 

You  got  away  so  very  quick ; 
And,  as  for  me,  to  do  without  you 

Just  absolutely  made  me  sick. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  us  plant  you ; 

Why,  every  man  squeezed  out  a  tear, 
And — just  imagine  us,  now,  can't  you  ? — 

The  gang,  and  yours  the  only  bier. 
Fred  hammered  out  some  bully  verses  ; 

We  had  them  printed  in  the  sheet, 
With  lines  funereal  as  hearses 

Around  them — didn't  it  look  sweet ! 

Halloo  !  is  that  Sir  Walter  Raleigh?— 
I  wish  you'd  point  the  people  out ; 

I  want  to  look  at  Tom  Macaulay ; 
Is  Makepeace  anywhere  about  ? 


28 


Where's  Socrates  ?     Where's  Sydney  Carton  ?- 

Oh,  I  forgot  he  was  a  myth ; 
If  there's  a  thing  I've  set  my  heart  on 

It  is  to  play  with  Sidney  Smith. 

What  ?     Glad  I  came  ?     I  am  for  certain  ; 

The  other's  a  malarious  hole. 
I  always  pined  to  draw  the  curtain, 

And  somehow  knew  I  had  a  soul. 
The  flesh — oh,  wasn't  it  a  fetter  ! 

You'd  get  so  tired  of  all  your  schemes  ; 
But  here,  I  think,  I'll  like  it  better. 

Oh  dear,  how  natural  it  seems ! 


ET    TU,    BERGHE! 

AND  art  thou,  Bergh,  so  firmly  set 
Against  domestic  strife, 
As  to  correct  with  stripes  the  man 
Who  disciplines  his  wife  ? 

Such  action  doth  not  of  thy  creed 

Appear  the  normal  fruit ; 
Thou  shouldst  befriend  a  being  who 

Behaves  so  like  a  brute  ! 


29 


REMORSE. 


v^-c^-v^^     ^1l^^..^~?£r--:i.-^K    ' 


MY  spirit  sits  in  ashes,  heaping  dust  upon  its  head ; 
I've  said  a  silly  thing,  and  now  it  cannot  be  unsaid. 
What  boots  it  that  to  only  two  the  wretched  truth  is  known, 
If  of  the  conscious  pair  who  know  it  I  myself  am  one  ? 

I  have  my  doubts — more  doubts  the  more  I  think  of  what  I  said — 
If,  really,  half  a  loaf  is  so  much  better  than  no  bread  ; 
For  if  a  person  is  an  ass,  and  duly  bound  to  show  it, 
Cold  comfort  'tis  that  he    should  have   just   sense  enough  to 
know  it. 

30 


HONI   SOIT   QUI   MAL  Y    PENSE. 

IT  was  my  happy  lot  to  meet 
Upon  a  late  occasion, 
While  seeking  of  the  summer's  heat 

Agreeable  evasion, 
By  visiting  at  a  resort 

Of  fashion — where,  no  matter — 
A  maid  whom  there  was  none  to  court. 
And  very  few  to  flatter. 

Her  head  had  not  the  graceful  poise 

Of  Aphrodite's  statue ; 
Her  hair  reminded  you  of  boys  ; 

Her  nose  was  pointed  at  you. 
A  Derby  hat,  the  selfsame  sort 

The  fashionable  male  owes 
Money  for,  she  used  to  sport 

As  angels  do  their  haloes. 

She  seldom  walked  in  silk  attire, 

But  commonly  in  flannel ; 
Nor  yet  in  oils  did  she  aspire 

To  figure  on  a  panel ; 
Because  she  could  not  help  but  see 

She  was  not  tall,  nor  slender  ; 
Nor  did  she  deem  her  curves  to  be 

Superlatively  tender. 

Some  prudish  dames  did  her  abuse 
With  censure  fierce  and  scathing  ; 

Because  she,  happening  to  lose 
Her  stocking  while  in  bathing ; 


Deemed  such  a  loss  of  little  note. 

And  simply  tied  the  plagued 
Stocking  around  her  little  throat 

And  reappeared  barelegged. 

I  do  not  think  that  for  the  pelf 

Of  eligible  boobies, 
Or  for  the  chance  to  deck  herself 

With  diamonds  and  rubies, 
Or  for  her  standing  in  the  books 

Of  prim  and  proper  ladies, 
Or  for  their  disapproving  looks, 

She  cared  a  hoot  from  Hades. 

Though  competent  to  hold  her  tongue, 

When  circumstance  demanded 
Speech,  she  was,  for  one  so  young, 

Astonishingly  candid. 
She  sang  the  vulgarest  of  songs, 

Which  sung  by  her  were  funny, 
And  never  brooded  o'er  her  wrongs — 

Nor  hoarded  up  her  money. 

'Tis  true  this  careless  damsel's  fame 

At  last  grew  somewhat  shady  ; 
But  if  the  man  disposed  to  name 

Her  fast,  or  not  a  lady, 
Will  in  the  present  writer's  way 

Considerately  toddle, 
This  writer  thinks  that  person  may 

Get  punched  upon  his  noddle. 


CIVIL  SERVICE. 

ON  Pennsylvania  avenue 
He  stood  and  waited  for  a  car ; 
He  turned  to  catch  a  parting  view 

Of  where  the  Public  Buildings  are  : 
He  looked  at  them  with  thoughtful  eye ; 

He  took  his  hat  from  off  his  head  ; 
He  heaved  a  half-regretful  sigh, 
And  thus  he  said  : 

"  My  relative,  I  do  the  bidding 

Of  Fate,  and  say  to  thee  good-bye. 
I  think  thee  fortunate  at  ridding 

Thyself  of  such  a  clerk  as  I. 
Thy  sure  support,  though  somewhat  meagre, 

Hath  much  about  it  to  commend  ; 
Nor  am  I  now  so  passing  eager 

To  leave  so  provident  a  friend. 

Light  was  thy  yoke  could  I  have  borne  it 

With  tranquil  mind  and  step  sedate  ; 
Why  did  my  feeble  shoulders  scorn  it 

And  seem  to  crave  a  heavier  weight  ? 
Extremely  blest  is  his  condition 

Whose  needs  thy  bounteous  hands  supply, 
If  he  but  fling  away  ambition 

And  let  the  world  go  rushing  by. 

Indocilis  pauperiem  pati, 

I  must  get  out  of  this  damp  spot. 

Away  !  away  !     Whatever  fate  I 
May  have  in  store,  I  fear  it  not. 


33 


Away  from  all  my  soul  despises, 

From  paltry  aims,  from  sordid  cares ; 

Fame,  honor,  love,  time's  richest  prizes, 
Lie  waiting  for  the  man  who  dares. 

The  man  who  calls  no  man  his  master 

Nor  bows  his  head  to  tinsel  gods  ; 
Who  faces  debt,  disease,  disaster, 

And  never  murmurs  at  the  odds ; 
Although  his  life  from  its  beginning 

Marks  only  fall  succeeding  fall, 
Let  him  fight  on  and  trust  to  winning 

In  death  the  richest  prize  of  all." 

He  jammed  his  hat  down  on  his  head, 
He  turned  from  where  the  Buildings  are 

Precipitately  thence  he  fled, 
And  caught  a  passing  car. 


34 


A  PHILADELPHIA  CLAVERHOUSE. 

TO  the  fathers  in  council  'twas  Witherspoon  spoke  : 
"  Our  best  beloved  dogmas  we  cannot  revoke ; 
God's  infinite  mercy  let  others  record 
And  teach  men  to  trust  in  their  crucified  Lord  ; 
The  old  superstitions  let  others  dispel, 
I  feel  it  my  duty  to  go  in  for  Hell ! 

Perdition  is  needful ;  beyond  any  doubt 
Hell  fire  is  a  thing  that  we  can't  do  without. 
The  bottomless  pit  is  our  very  best  claim  ; 
To  leave  it  unworked  were  a  sin  and  a  shame  ; 
We  must  keep  it  up,  if  we  like  it  or  not, 
And  make  it  eternal  and  make  it  red-hot. 

To  others  the  doctrine  of  love  may  be  dear — 

I  own  I  confide  in  the  doctrine  of  fear ; 

There's  nothing,  I  think,  so  effective  to  make 

Our  weak  fellow  mortals  their  errors  forsake, 

As  to  tell  them  abruptly,  with  unchanging  front, 

'  You'll  be  damned  if  you  do  !  You'll  be  damned  if  you  don't ! ' 

Saltpetre  and  pitchforks,  with  brimstone  and  coals, 

Are  arguments  suited  to  rescue  men's  souls. 

A  new  generation  forthwith  must  arise 

With  Beelzebub  pictured  before  their  young  eyes  ; 

They'll  be  brave,  they'll  be  true,  they'll  be  gentle  and  kind, 

Because  they'll  have  Satan  forever  in  mind." 


35 


A  MORTIFYING  SUBJECT. 

WHAT  is  to  be,  I  do  not  know  : 
What  is,  I  do  esteem  ^ 

To  be  so  undesirable 

And  worthless,  that  I  deem 
There  must  be  something  good  in  store, 

Something  to  keep  in  view, 
To  compensate  us  living  here, 
For  living  as  we  do. 

For  life — oh  life,  it  seems  a  chore  ! 

Its  surface  is  so  blurred 
By  cares  and  passions,  that  it  makes 

One  long  to  be  interred ; 
To  occupy  a  tranquil  spot 

Some  seven  feet  by  two, 
And  just  serenely  lie  and  rot, 

With  nothing  else  to  do. 

I  think  that  when  there  ceased  to  be 

Sufficient  tenement 
To  hold  my  conscience,  then  I  would 

Begin  to  be  content. 
And  if  I  should  be  there  to  see 

My  stomach  take  its  leave, 
I'd  gather  up  my  mouldering  shroud 

And  chuckle  in  my  sleeve. 

I  think  that  when  the  greedy  worm 

Began  upon  my  brains, 
I'd  wish  him  luck,  and  hope  he'd  get 

His  dinner  for  his  pains. 


I'd  warn  him  that  they  would  be  apt 

With  him  to  disagree, 
For  if  they  fed  him  well  'twere  what 

They  seldom  did  for  me. 

But  when  I  should  be  certain  that 

My  scarred  and  battered  heart 
Was  of  my  corporality 

Not  any  more  a  part, 
Though  I'd  no  voice,  I'd  rattle  in 

My  throat,  with  joyous  tones  ; 
And  with  no  feelings  left,  I  would 

Feel  happy  in  my  bones. 


37 


WHAT   HE   WANTS   IN    HIS. 

1DO  not  ask  thee,  Fate,  to  bake 
For  me  so  very  large  a  cake  ; 
Choose  thou  the  size— but  I  entreat 
That  though  but  small,  it  shall  be  sweet. 
Let  those  who  like  it  have  it,  I 
Feel  no  desire  for  sawdust  pie. 

I  have  no  wail  for  all  the  years 

I've  lived  on  crusts  washed  down  with  tears. 

If  I  must  drain  the  bitter  cup 

As  heretofore,  why — fill  it  up. 

But  when  my  cake,  if  ever,  comes, 
Vouchsafe  it  to  me  full  of  plums. 


MIXED. 

WITHIN  my  earthly  temple  there's  a  crowd. 
There's  one  of  us  that's  humble  ;  one  that's  proud. 
There's  one  that's  broken-hearted  for  his  sins, 
And  one  who,  unrepentant,  sits  and  grins. 
There's  one  who  loves  his  neighbor  as  himself, 
And  one  who  cares  for  naught  but  fame  and  pelf. 
From  much  corroding  care  I  would  be  free 
If  once  I  could  determine  which  is  me. 


ALL   OR   NOTHING. 

HAPPY  the  man  whose  far  remove 
From  business  and  the  giddy  throng 
Fits  him  in  the  paternal  groove 
Unquestioning  to  glide  along. 
Apart  from  struggle  and  from  strife, 

Content  to  live  by  labor's  fruits, 
And  wander  down  the  vale  of  life 
In  gingham  shirt  and  cowhide  boots, 

He  too  is  blessed  who,  from  within, 

By  strong  and  lasting  impulse  stirred, 
Faces  the  turmoil  and  the  din 

Of  rushing  life  ;  whom  hope  deferred 
But  more  incites  ;  who  ever  strives, 

And  wants,  and  works,  and  waits,  until 
The  multitude  of  other  lives 

Pay  glorious  tribute  to  his  will. 

But  he  who,  greedy  of  renown, 

Is  too  tenacious  of  his  ease, 
Alas  for  him !     Nor  busy  town 

Nor  country  with  his  mood  agrees ; 
Eager  to  reap,  but  loath  to  sow, 
He  longs  monstrari  digtto, 
And  looking  on  with  envious  eyes, 
Lives  restless  and  obscurely  dies. 


39 


PROCUL   NEGOTIIS. 

I   THINK  that  if  I  had  a  farm, 
I'd  be  a  man  of  sense ; 
And  if  the  day  was  bright  and  warm 

I'd  sit  upon  the  fence, 
And  calmly  smoke  a  pensive  pipe 

And  think  about  my  pigs  ; 
And  wonder  if  the  corn  was  ripe ; 
And  counsel  I'homme  gut  digs. 

And  if  the  day  was  wet  and  cold, 

I  think  I  should  admire 
To  sit,  and  dawdle  over  old 

Montaigne,  before  the  fire ; 
And  pity  boobies  who  could  lie 

And  squabble  just  for  pelf; 
And  thank  my  blessed  stars  that  I 

Was  comfortable  mvself. 


40 


EPITHALAMIUM. 

THE  marriage  bells  have  rung  their  peal, 
The  wedding  march  has  told  its  story. 
I've  seen  her  at  the  altar  kneel 

In  all  her  stainless,  virgin  glory ; 
She's  bound  to  honor,  love,  obey, 

Come  joy  or  sorrow,  tears  or  laughter. 
I  watched  her  as  she  rode  away 
And  flung  the  lucky  slipper  after. 

She  was  my  first,  my  very  first, 

My  earliest  inamorata, 
And  to  the  passion  that  I  nursed 

For  her  I  well-nigh  was  a  martyr. 
For  I  was  young  and  she  was  fair, 

And  always  bright  and  gay  and  chipper, 
And,  oh,  she  wore  such  sunlit  hair  ! 

Such  silken  stockings  !  such  a  slipper ! 

She  did  not  wish  to  make  me  mourn — 

She  was  the  kindest  of  God's  creatures ; 
But  flirting  was  in  her  inborn, 

Like  brains  and  queerness  in  the  Beechers. 
I  do  not  fear  your  heartless  flirt, 

Obtuse  her  dart  and  dull  her  probe  is ; 
But  when  girls  do  not  mean  to  hurt, 

But  do — -Orate  tune  pro  nobis  ! 


A  most  romantic  country  place  ; 

The  moon  at  full,  the  month  of  August ; 
An  inland  lake  across  whose  face 

Played  gentle  zephyrs,  ne'er  a  raw  gust. 
Books,  boats  and  horses  to  enjoy, 

The  which  was  all  our  occupation  ; 
A  damsel  and  a  callow  boy — 

There  !  now  you  have  the  situation. 

We  rode  together  miles  and  miles, 

My  pupil  she,  and  1  her  Chiron  ; 
At  home  I  reveled  in  her  smiles 

And  read  her  extracts  out  of  Byron. 
We  roamed  by  moonlight,  chose  our  stars 

(I  thought  it  most  authentic  billing), 
Explored  the  woods,  climbed  over  bars, 

Smoked  cigarettes  and  broke  a  shilling. 

An  infinitely  blissful  week 

Went  by  in  this  Arcadian  fashion  ; 
I  hesitated  long  to  speak, 

But  ultimately  breathed  my  passion. 
She  said  her  heart  was  not  her  own ; 

She  said  she'd  love  me  like  a  sister  ; 
She  cried  a  little  (not  alone), 

I  begged  her  not  to  fret,  and — kissed  her. 

I  lost  some  sleep,  some  pounds  in  weight, 
A  deal  of  time  and  all  my  spirits, 

And  much,  how  much  I  dare  not  state 
I  mused  upon  that  damsel's  merits. 

I  tortured  my  unhappy  soul, 
I  wished  I  never  might  recover; 


42 


I  hoped  her  marriage  bells  might  toll 
A  requiem  for  her  faithful  lover. 

And  now  she's  married,  now  she  wears 

A  wedding  ring  upon  her  finger ; 
And  I — although  it  odd  appears — 

Still  in  the  flesh  I  seem  to  linger. 
Lo,  there  my  swallow-tail,  and  here 

Lies  by  my  side  a  wedding  favor ; 
Beside  it  stands  a  mug  of  beer, 

I  taste  it — how  divine  its  flavor  ! 

I  saw  her  in  her  bridal  dress 

Stand  pure  and  lovely  at  the  altar ; 
I  heard  her  firm  response — that  "Yes," 

Without  a  quiver  or  a  falter. 
And  here  I  sit  and  drink  to  her 

Long  life  and  happiness,  God  bless  her ! 
Now  fill  again.     No  heel  taps,  sir  ; 

Here's  to — Success  to  her  successor  ! 


43 


AGAIN. 

1   WONDER  why  my  brow  is  burning; 
Why  sleep,  to  close  my  eyes  forgets  ; 
I  wonder  why  I  have  a  yearning 
To  smoke  incessant  cigarettes. 
I  wonder  why  my  thoughts  will  wander, 

And  all  restraint  of  mine  defy, 
And  why — excuse  the  rhyme — a  gander 
Is  not  more  of  a  goose  than  I. 

I  have  an  indistinct  impression 

I  had  these  symptoms  once  before, 
And  dull  discomfort  held  possession 

Of  this  same  spot  that  now  is  sore. 
That  sometime  in  a  past  that  ranges 

From  early  whiskers  up  to  bibs, 
My  heart  was  ringing  just  such  changes 

As  now  against  these  selfsame  ribs. 

I  wish  some  philanthropic  Jenner 

Might  vaccinate  against  these  ills, 
And  help  us  keep  our  noiseless  tenor 

Of  life  submissive  to  our  wills  ; 
And  ere  our  hearts  are  permeated 

By  sentiments  too  warm  by  half, 
That  we  might  be  inoculated 

With  milder  passion  from  a  calf. 


44 


MEA    CULPA. 

THERE  is  a  thing  which  in  my  brain, 
Though  nightly  I  revolve  it, 
I  cannot  in  the  least  explain, 
Nor  do  I  hope  to  solve  it. 
While  others  tread  the  narrow  path 

In  manner  meek  and  pious, 
Why  is  it  that  my  spirit  hath 
So  opposite  a  bias  ? 

Brought  up  to  fear  the  Lord,  and  dread 

The  bottomless  abysm, 
In  Watt's  hymns  profoundly  read 

And  drilled  in  catechism, 
I  should  have  been  a  model  youth, 

The  pink  of  all  that's  proper. 
I  was  not,  but — to  tell  the  truth — 
I  never  cared  a  copper. 

I  had  no  yearnings  when  a  boy 

To  sport  an  angel's  wrapper, 
Nor  heard  I  with  tumultuous  joy 

The  church-frequenting  clapper. 
My  actions  always  harmonized 

With  my  own  sweet  volition. 
I  always  did  what  I  devised. 

But  rarely  asked  permission. 

When  o'er  the  holy  book  I'd  pore 
And  read  of  doings  pristine, 

I  had  a  fellow-feeling  for 
The  put-upon  Philistine. 


45 


King  David  gratified  my  taste — 
He  harped  and  danced  boleros  ; 

But  first  the  Prodigal  was  placed 
Upon  my  list  of  heroes. 

I  went  to  school.     To  study  ?     No  ! 

I  dearly  loved  to  dally 
And  dawdle  over  Ivanhoe, 

Tom  Brown  and  Charles  O'Malley  ; 
In  recitation  I  was  used 

To  halt  on  every  sentence  ; 
Repenting,  seldom  I  produced 

Fruits  proper  for  repentance. 

At  college,  later,  I  became 

Familiar  with  my  Flaccus, 
Brought  incense  to  the  Muses'  flame, 

And  sacrificed  to  Bacchus. 
I  flourished  in  an  air  unfraught 

With  sanctity's  aroma ; 
Learned  many  things  I  was  not  taught, 

And  captured  a  diploma. 

I  am  not  well  provided  for, 

I  have  no  great  possessions, 
I  do  not  like  the  legal  or 

Medicinal  professions. 
Were  I  of  good  repute,  I  might 

Take  orders  as  a  deacon  ; 
But  I'm  no  bright  and  shining  light, 

But  just  a  warning  beacon. 

Though  often  urged  by  friends  sincere 
To  woo  some  funded  houri, 

46 


I  cannot  read  my  title  clear 

To  any  damsel's  dowry. 
And  could  to  wedlock  I  induce 

An  heiress,  I  should  falter, 
For  fear  that  such  a  bridal  noose 

Might  prove  a  gilded  halter. 

My  tradesmen  have  suspicious  grown, 

My  friends  are  tired  of  giving  ; 
Upon  the  cold,  cold  world  I'm  thrown 

To  hammer  out  my  living. 
I  fear  that  work  before  me  lies — 

Indeed,  I  see  no  option, 
Unless,  perhaps,  I  advertise' — 

"  An  orphan  for  adoption  !  " 


47 


TO  MABEL. 

UPON  this  anniversary, 
My  little  godchild,  aged  three, 
My  compliments  I  make  to  thee, 

Quite  heedless. 

And  that  you'll  throw  them  now  away, 
But  treasure  them  some  future  day, 
Are  platitudes,  the  which  to  say 
Is  needless. 

You  small,  stout  damsel,  muckle  mou'd, 
With  cropped  tow-head  and  manners  rude, 
And  stormy  spirit  unsubdued 

By  nurses. 

Where  you  were  raised  was  it  in  vogue 
To  lisp  that  Tipperary  brogue? 
Oh,  you're  a  subject  sweet,  you  rogue, 

For  verses ! 

Last  Sunday  morning  when  we  stayed 

At  home  you  got  yourself  arrayed 

In  Lyman's  clothes  and  turned  from  maid 

To  urchin. 

And  when  we  all  laughed  at  you  so, 
You  eyed  outside  the  falling  snow, 
And  thought  your  rig  quite  fit  to  go 

To  church  in. 


48 


Play  on,  play  on,  dear  little  lass  ! 
Play  on  till  sixteen  summers  pass, 
And  then  I'll  bring  a  looking-glass, 

And  there  be- 
Fore  you  on  your  lips  I'll  show 
The  curves  of  small  Dan  Cupid's  bow, 
And  then  the  crop  that  now  is  "  tow" 

Shall  "  fair  "  be. 

And  then  I'll  show  you,  too,  the  charms 
Of  small  firm  hands  and  rounded  arms, 
And  eyes  whose  flashes  send  alarms 

Right  through  you ; 
And  then  a  half-regretful  sigh 
May  break  from  me  to  think  that  I, 
At  forty  years,  can  never  try 

To  woo  you. 

What  shall  I  wish  you?     Free  from  ruth, 
To  live  and  learn  in  love  and  truth, 
Through  childhood's  day  and  days  of  youth, 

And  school's  day. 
For  all  the  days  that  intervene 
'Twixt  Mab  at  three  and  at  nineteen, 
Are  but  one  sombre  or  serene 

All  Fools'  Dav. 


49 


LOCHINVAR     EX-COLORADO. 


OH,  the  cow-puncher  Budge  has  come  in  from  the  West 
In  all  Colorado  his  ranch  is  the  best ; 
And,  barring  a  toothbrush,  he  baggage  had  none, 
For  he  came  in  some  haste,  and  he  came  not  for  fun  ; 
Nor  vigils  nor  gold  to  his  quest  doth  he  grudge — 
On  an  errand  of  love  comes  the  cow-puncher  Budge. 


A  telegram  reached  him  ;  he  called  for  a  horse. 
He  rode  ninety  miles  as  a  matter  of  course  ; 
The  last  twenty-seven  he  galloped,  and  then 
Just  caught  the  Atlantic  Express  at  Cheyenne. 
He  stayed  not  to  eat  nor  to  drink,  for  he  knew 
He  could  pick  up  a  meal  on  the  C.  B.  &  O. 

He  got  to  Chicago  the  second  day  out, 

But  right  through  Chicago  he  kept  on  his  route, 

Nor  stayed  to  buy  linen,  not  even  a  shirt ; 

He  liked  flannel  best  and  he  didn't  mind  dirt. 

With  trousers  tucked  into  his  boots,  said  he  "  Fudge  ! 

Small  odds — if  I  get  there,"  said  bold  Robert  Budge. 


From  Worth,  the  Parisian  of  awful  repute, 

Had  come  divers  gowns  to  Angelica  Bute, 

And  parcels  from  Tiffany  daily  were  stowed 

Away  in  strong  rooms  of  her  father's  abode ; 

But  she  languished,  nor  heeded  she  hint,  cough \>r  nudge ; 

She  was  bound  to  Fitz  James,  but  she  cottoned  to  Budge. 

But  hark  !     'Tis  the  door-bell !  a  symptom  of  joy 
Lights  her  eye — "  Ah !  at  last ! "     'Tis  a  telegraph  boy  : 
The  maid  brings  a  message ;  she  takes  it,  half  dead 
With  mingled  excitement,  hope,  eagerness — dread  : 
"Mayor's  house  on  Thursday,  at  nine;  let  me  judge 
What  next ;  only  meet  me  there. 

Faithfully, 

Budge." 


51 


On  Thursday  at  nine,  to  the  house  of  the  Mayor, 

Two  persons  came  singly,  but  left  it  a  pair. 

A  man  and  a  bride  in  a  traveling  dress, 

Went  Westward  at  ten  on  the  lightning  express. 

A  wedding  at  Grace  Church,  which  should  have  occurred 

At  twelve,  was,  for  reasons  not  given,  deferred. 

The  dowagers  called  it  the  greatest  of  shames. 

The  men  said,  "  It's  rough  on  that  fellow  Fitz  James ; " 

The  damsels  declared  it  was  awfully  nice, 

And  vowed  they  could  do  it  and  never  think  twice. 

"  It's  a  chore  to  get  housemaids  ;  you  may  have  to  drudge 

At  the  start ;  but — I  love  you,"  said  cow-puncher  Budge. 


52 


FOLGER. 

HE  died  in  harness,  like  the  brave 
Old  warrior  he  was,  who  dared 
To  lead  a  hopeless  charge,  nor  spared 
His  strength,  nor  sought  himself  to  save. 

His  learning  freights  the  lawyer's  shelf ; 
Praise  him  who  played  so  high  a  part ! 
But  honor  more  the  loyal  heart 
That  calmly  sacrificed  itself. 

It  is  not  ours  to  choose  what  prize 
Our  manhood's  hopes  shall  satisfy ; 
That  we  must  leave  to  destiny, 
And  work  out  that  which  in  us  lies. 

Content,  if  justly  may  be  carved 
Upon  the  slab  our  dust  that  guards, 
Not  a  mere  list  of  earth's  rewards, 
But  nobler  tribute,  this  :  "  He  served  !  " 


53 


GRANT. 

NO  faultless  man  was  he  whose  work  is  done. 
It  is  not  given  men  to  be  wholly  wise, 
Still  shall  our  deeds  be  sometimes  ill-advised, 
While  in  our  veins  still  human  blood  shall  run. 
But  sundered  States,  now  one  again,  attest 
That  what  he  gave  his  country  was  his  best. 

Spoiled  of  his  fortune,  rifled  of  his  ease, 

Above  all  ills  his  stubborn  spirit  rose. 

Declining  proffered  affluence,  he  chose — 

Though  wrung  with  pain  and  weakened  by  disease — 
That  his  own  shoulders  should  support  the  weight 
Of  woe  laid  on  them  by  ungentle  fate. 

The  silent  soldier ;  not  with  fulsome  gaud 

May  we  oppress  the  chaplet  that  he  wears. 

Freed  from  his  pain,  nor  hears  he  now,  nor  cares 

If  men  his  fame  disparage  or  applaud. 
Of  his  renown  be  this  the  mighty  meed — 
He  served  his  country  in  his  country's  need. 


54 


Form  L9-42 


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